


Of Stake Outs and Bedroom Doors

by Strange_johnlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, No paticular season, Oral Sex, Rimming, Top John Watson, Trying a new sex position, Wall Sex, isuckattags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21717028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strange_johnlock/pseuds/Strange_johnlock
Summary: Thinking about that arse, just inches from where John is clasping him makes the doctor forget all about the place they are in, it’s wonderfully round and plush. John loves Sherlock’s bum, has loved it ever since he became aware of how perfectly the suit trousers emphasise it, all snug. It’s even better naked, of course, invites to be kneaded and nipped at, and what a lucky bastard John is to get to do just that. The doctor groans, has to shift a bit, thighs straining.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 17
Kudos: 215





	Of Stake Outs and Bedroom Doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1SurgeonandDetective1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1SurgeonandDetective1/gifts).



> Thank you, Amelia, for beta reading <3
> 
> And thank you 1surgeonanddetective1 for the prompt:  
> "How about writing something where John easily lifts Sherlock up in the air and fucks him like that, either against a wall or just holding him up? I've seen a ton of fics where Sherlock does that to John but hardly any where John does that with Sherlock."

Sherlock’s entire weight is resting on his thighs and for the twig he is, he certainly feels heavy. John's muscles are quivering as he tries his best to lift the detective up and hold him there. In a moment like this, he is very glad that the day after they first met Sherlock healed him of his limp else his knee would have given in already, the both of them tumbling to the floor.

It’s cold, and the alley smells faintly of rotting food and other things John doesn’t want to think about, instead, he presses his face into the rough fabric of Sherlock’s coat, which no matter what always smells of laundry detergent, London and the man himself, a mixture of honey and after shave and skin. It is warm against his nose and forehead, radiating body heat and John adjusts his grip on the detective’s thighs, brushing over his bum.

Thinking about that arse, just inches from where John is clasping him makes the doctor forget all about the place they are in, it’s wonderfully round and plush. John loves Sherlock’s bum, has loved it ever since he became aware of how perfectly the suit trousers emphasise it, all snug. It’s even better naked, of course, invites to be kneaded and nipped at, and what a lucky bastard John is to get to do just that. The doctor groans, has to shift a bit, thighs straining.

“John.” Sherlock whispers, and the way he looks down at him reminds John of what they are doing, where they are.

“Sorry, got distracted.” John keeps his voice just as quiet and he is convinced that a smile twitches around Sherlock’s mouth for a moment before he focuses back on the window, the faint sound of voices reaching where John leans against the rough wall. He can’t understand anything but is sure Sherlock will tell him all about it, later, when they are back to the safety of their flat. Mostly, on stake outs, John feels rather useless, not being able to add much to the case, but he is always glad to go so Sherlock doesn’t do something stupid without him.

This time, he can be of use. No old box or rubbish bin had been in sight as they entered the alley, and Sherlock had just ordered John to lift him up. He’s been in worse situations. Well, at least for the first five minutes. After that, trying to keep both of them becomes more and more straining, and at around ten minutes John has had enough.

“Sherlock.” He tries to get his attention, while not giving them away to whoever is in the flat above them. “Sherlock.”

The detective doesn’t react, and John silently curses, only the wall keeping him from stumbling backwards and making Sherlock kiss the asphalt, and then, before he can make a decision, Sherlock slides down, and John is dragged down the alley, legs still wobbly, and he stumbles.

“Hurry, John. They spotted me. And they have guns.”

As his brain catches up with what Sherlock was saying, it provides his body with enough adrenaline to force his legs into a sprint, right at the heels of his mad detective. Sherlock looks ridiculously good with his curls bouncing and his coat flying behind him. It is, John thinks, almost a pity that it hides that lovely bum from view. The thought makes him giggle, as the first shots sound in the distance.

The next morning is quiet. They’ve worked on the case for over a week, and with the gang of jewellery thieves behind bars, they sleep in, and after an ample breakfast Sherlock slumps onto the sofa and disappears into his mind palace.

John likes days like this, sprawling around the flat after one of their adventures, reading, and writing up the case for his blog. Also, Sherlock gets quite cuddly when he’s tired, having slept for about eight hours in an entire week, plus the ten tonight.

That has to be his favourite thing about post-case days.

John puts the kettle on and lets his tea steep as he cleans the kitchen, then settles onto the sofa as well, briefly lifting Sherlock’s feet, before he lets them drop into his lap.

He gets to page thirty-six, having started the book about four times and never getting far, which he nags Sherlock about, but secretly doesn’t really mind. As much as he loves reading, being distracted into whatever Sherlock wants to do is almost always worth abandoning it.

He has just flipped to page thirty-seven, when he notices the detective’s eyes on him.

“Back with the living?” He smirks, squeezing one large foot, pressing his thumb into the ball of it, massaging gently.

“You are very strong.” Sherlock says, hands stapled against his chin and lips, pale eyes boring and John can’t help but raise his eyebrows at that.

“How long have we been married?” He asks, putting the book to rest on the edge of the sofa.

“Two years.” Sherlock says, apparently annoyed by the question, just as John says, “You could have noticed sooner.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes, and John swats at him when a big toe is pressed into his thigh almost painfully. “Of course, I noticed. I notice everything. And don’t try to hide your smile, John Watson, I already noticed that, too. What I wanted to say, dearest husband,” Sherlock’s voice is dripping with irony as he says those last words, and John considers throwing a pillow at him. “Is that our stake-out yesterday has brought an idea to my mind that has considerably to do with your strength.”

“I’m not helping you break into Mycroft’s office, love, no matter how many times you ask.” John picks up his cup and drains the last sip.

“Don’t mention my brother when I’m talking about sex.”

And John expected a lot, but not this. The doctor turns, resting his shoulder against the back of the sofa to look at the man beside him. “Sex? How…?” He lets the question hang in the air, knowing that Sherlock will explain this in one of his monologues anyway.

“You thought about it too, I know, and in the moment, it was just a distraction. I was so focused on them talking, and their code-words were very complex, but when we came home, I thought about your hands on my bottom.”

John catches himself lick his lips, brushing his fingers over a knobbly knee and the sensitive skin at its back, a spot Sherlock is especially sensitive at.

“You are strong, John, and I’m sure you could hold me up long enough for us both to achieve orgasms.”

John doesn’t even try to keep his mind from imagining just that, and it takes him right back into that alley. What if the window would have been closed, and instead of listening to criminals discuss their new cue John would have pressed Sherlock against the rough brick and fucked him senseless?

Their sex life has included walls, before, but so far just to Sherlock could hold himself upright, as John thrust into him, or with John on his knees as he sucks that lovely cock into his mouth, Sherlock slumped against one.

In the five years of their relationship, John has never lifted Sherlock up as they had sex, maybe they just assumed they were to old when they first met to be that acrobatic. Not that their sex life is vanilla, far from it. John enjoys a bit of dominance, here and there, likes shutting that genius brain off for a while by teasing and pleasuring the gorgeous transport. All horizontal surfaces within the flat have been put to use at least once, even the sofa table, which was a bad idea with the flat door unlocked and they have their favourites, of course, but the walls have been mostly neglected.

Having wandered off a bit, John clears his throat and pushes Sherlock’s legs off, getting up.

“What are you doing?” Sherlock asks, obviously not finished talking and a little offended and the doctor reaches out a hand.

“Come on, then.” He says, needing no more words to be convinced of the idea. “Let’s see how strong I am.”

Sherlock is up and in front of him quicker than John can blink, his mouth pressed hot on John’s, and the kiss is far from skillful, teeth clicking as their bodies collide, but going right to John’s cock, which is already very interested.

“Which wall?” Sherlock asks between kisses. “Most of them are blocked by furniture or downstairs, and as such in a too close proximity to Mrs. Hudson, which we should avoid. I would suggest the hallway to the bedroom.”

“Don’t care.” John busies himself by pulling his husband’s shirt and pyjama bottoms off, wanting pale skin and lean muscles under his fingers. “I’ll need you in your chair, first.”

“John, this is not…”

“Sherlock, think practical. I can maybe manage to hold you up for a few minutes. That means, I have to get inside you as soon as I get you up against that wall.” He walks Sherlock back against the chair. “So, as I’m the one doing all the work, again,” He smirks at that, finding the expression mirrored in Sherlock’s face. “I’m deciding that first, I’ll get you nice and open for me, and then you can choose any wall you want, alright?”

Sherlock’s eyes, the way his eyebrows move up towards his hairline, mouth twitching, John knows he has him convinced. Their mouths remain against each other, as the detective gets into his chair, naked bum squeaking against the leather. John leans over him, that lovely mouth too much of a temptation to easily abandon, even as there are wonderful things to follow.

Sherlock Holmes kisses with the same enthusiasm he approaches a crime scene, taking in every detail and reacting to it, making John’s head spin, even after all the years. He gives as good as he gets, nipping and sucking at plush lips, teasing Sherlock’s tongue with is one, dipping it into the delicious mouth. He cups his husband’s face in his hands, brushes his thumps over cheekbones, only pulling back when they both run out of air. He returns to that mouth again and again, as he pulls Sherlock’s legs up and onto the armrest of his chair, knowing quite well how that gives him perfect access to a very intimate part of the detective’s body.

Sherlock breathes his name, and that sound is one of John’s favourites, laced with such pleasure and love, he sometimes can’t believe this isn’t just a very good dream. Said like this, John knows, means he has to get on with it, Sherlock needing to feel him and the doctor kisses his once more, before dropping to his knees, briefly turning to get the union jack pillow for his own comfort.

The sight in beautiful.

Sherlock isn’t fully erect, but his cock is filling with more blood with every heartbeat, and even though his aim is further down, John has to wrap a hand around it. He pulls the foreskin back a bit to kiss the head, let it slip between his lips.

It’s brilliant to feel it harden further under his touch, fill his mouth, to hear Sherlock moan and John can’t help himself, he moves up to kiss him, another flavour added to the slide of lips against lips, salty and savoury, as John moves his hand in a slow rhythm around his husband’s cock.

“We’ll never get things done this way.” John says into the kiss, knowing he is the one to be to blame, and Sherlock bites his chin, and god, John loves giggling during sex, loves how they can be playful still.

“You’re not the one with his arse exposed to the world.” Sherlock points his head down to where his legs fall open.

“Not quite the world.” John chuckles, stealing one more kiss, before brushing his mouth over the pale neck and chest, feeling Sherlock’s belly quiver when he reaches it. Not wanting to get distracted by that lovely cock again, he briefly kisses down the shaft, paying more attention to the base, before he sucks first one, then the other testicle into his mouth.

Sherlock’s skin tastes amazing and even more intense here, John presses his nose into his husband’s groin, to smell him too.

Ever since the first time he tried it, he loved having oral sex with women, loved to give pleasure with his mouth and have them writhe above him, some of those skills he can still apply to his Sherlock’s very male body, and what he could have never imagined as a young man has become one of his favourite parts of sex with his husband. Well, sex is his favourite part, but if he were threatened with a gun to choose what he enjoyed most, this would be high on his list.

He lets his tongue drift deeper, just teasing, before his attention returns to Sherlock’s balls, the tender skin wet with his saliva. John sucks at him, the fingers of his left hand wrapped around his husband’s cock to hold it up while the forefinger of his right follows the line down his dam.

Both of them groan, when it meets puckered skin and John needs to look up, to see how Sherlock throws his head back, kiss-reddened mouth hanging open, eyes closed shut. Getting the world’s only consulting detective in a state like this, fully concentrating on the effects John’s touch is having on him, always fills John with a kind of awe and pride. He gets to enjoy Sherlock like this, the way no one else ever has, and no other person ever will if John gets a say in it.

Moving the pad of his finger in circles, John sits back and watches the muscle twitch, pink and puckered. He only realises he is licking his lips, when a sound between a chuckle and moan leaves Sherlock’s throat, darkened eyes wandering over John under heavy lids.

“Do get on with it will you?” Sherlock says impatiently, and John has to kiss him for a bit, just because he’s a prick and John loves him for it.

Large hands slip under the fabric of John’s jumper and only then does he realise he’s still fully clothed, although for a lazy day at the flat he has held back from putting on too many layers.

“Now you notice how unfair you’re being.” Sherlock has a twinkle in his eyes, as long fingers skim over his belly and side. That is lovely, makes something in his belly tingle and his neglected cock twitches in his jeans.

“I think, my darling.” John emphasises every word with a kiss to hot skin. “That I’m being very generous, and that you’re being a git.”

Sherlock follows his mouth with his own, as John moves away, their kiss hot and wet. “You’ll have give me a bit more evidence to prove this thesis.” He smirks, and John finds the position more and more appealing, as he can easily reach down and swat at a round buttock.

“Sassy.” He says, placing a final kiss to soft lips, before he gets back on to his knees, allowing himself to do what he has been working up to, and he just dives in with a broad lick down, starting at the base of Sherlock’s cock and ending at the rim. Sherlock tastes of sweat and smells of his honey shower gel, mixed in with the essence of what is Sherlock.

“Hips up a bit, darling?” John swats at his thigh and Sherlock takes a moment to react, before he tilts them, back sinking lower into the leather. John smiles up at him, before he repeats the movement of his tongue, now ending up where cleft meets lower back, all that skin available with the change in position.

“Tease.” Sherlock huffs.

“You could say please.” John nips at the round skin of his bum, waiting for his husband’s response. He expects a “fuck you, John” or something familiar, but when a whispered “please” leaves his throat John knows he really means it. He obliges happily, the next swipes of his tongue concentrating on the puckered skin, softening it with every lick and suck and John’s hand drops to his own lap when the taste of Sherlock fills his mouth.

His cock is hard as a rock, and he rubs at it through the rough fabric at first, teasing himself as much as he has teased Sherlock moments before, and he breathes a sigh of relief when, button by button, it is given more room until it springs free.

He hears Sherlock breathe his name, and that sound makes John wrap his fingers around his own cock, jerking it a few times. After five years, he still can’t get enough of that voice, and Sherlock knows it, has used it against him more than once – all to John’s advantage, of course. He wants to hear it again, and as the ring muscle softens, he slips the tip into Sherlock’s body. He probes at it, places his hands at his butt cheeks to pull them further apart.

Sherlock is back to moaning John’s name, throwing his head from one side to the other and John feels the urge to video tape every emotion on his face to rewatch later, as he can’t take them all in from where he is sitting. Sherlock, he thinks, might even agree to that. There is no way he is getting up now, though, so that will have to wait.

Instead, John focuses on giving pleasure to the man he loves, that brilliant, amazing, annoying, rude, fantastic, clever man who loves him and whom John loves so much it overwhelms him sometimes. John does that by slowly fucking him, tongue slipping deeper and deeper with every thrust, saliva wetting his chin, nose pressing into his groin, surrounded completely by him as Sherlock tilts his hips to meet every thrust. 

John loves this, loves tasting, smelling, feeling Sherlock, the outside world shut out in those moments that belong solely to them.

“John.” Sherlock says, and John knows him well enough that he can identify this version of his name as a warning. The detective, mind processing every single sensation in his constant need to learn and understand, can get overwhelmed, and that happens most often during oral sex. John has to be quick, now, so he reluctantly pulls back, pressing a kiss to both inner thighs.

Sherlock’s hole swallows down two fingers eagerly, when John presses them in, the muscle relaxed from his earlier attentions. He is careful not to curl them, wanting to give Sherlock a moment to calm down, and he pulls at a leg, getting it down from the arm rest, to get Sherlock into a more comfortable position.

“Okay?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock’s smile is small, but John can see the “thank you” hidden in it. Wiping at his mouth with his free hand, he sits up to kiss him softly.

“Still wanna try the wall thing?” John distracts him with kisses to his cheeks and jaw, as he opens him more efficiently. “We could move this to our bed, if you prefer. Try another time.”

The shake of his head is so immediate, John has to smile and kiss that mouth again, and for a while that is all they do, three of John’s fingers remaining within his husband’s body, holding it open.

“Can you finally get your jumper off?” Long fingers pull at the fabric and it gets dragged over head a moment later.

“If you insist, beautiful.” The blush on the detective’s cheeks impossibly deepens at the endearment and John suddenly can’t wait anymore. Carefully pulling back his hand, he gets to his feet and Sherlock reaches out for John to pull him up, knees all wobbly.

They kiss their way to the kitchen, stopping briefly when Sherlock presses John against the kitchen counter, as he searches for a bottle of lube stored there, before making their way beyond it.

Sherlock’s back collides with the wall with a thump, and suddenly John can’t wait anymore. He needs to be inside him, cock already swollen purple, which looks even darker as pale fingers wrap around him, slicking him. A groan bursts from John’s throat and he bites his lip, not wanting to get too close from just this. He distracts himself by lubing up his fingers, reaching around Sherlock, right hand resting on his hip. He slips back in, making sure his husband is nice and open. 

“We’ll need to figure out the logistics of this.” He looks up into pale eyes, as Sherlock wraps both arms around his neck. So, John just grabs at his thighs, pulls Sherlock close and lifts him up, the wall keeping them from stumbling forward. Their cocks are pressed together between them, soliciting a groan from two throats

“Hold on,” John lifts his husband a bit higher, long legs getting in the way a bit, until Sherlock settles them around his hips. Just as John grabs at his cock to slip it into his body, he finds his husband shaking his head.

“I don’t like this.” He says, and John wants to be annoyed, for having to pull back when they had been so close, but then he would never want to do anything Sherlock doesn’t feel comfortable with. “The wallpaper feels annoying against my back.”

John almost drops him at that, laughter bubbling up in his chest.

“You are ridiculous.” He huffs out, moving back a few steps so Sherlock doesn’t have to feel annoyed by the texture of Mrs. Hudson’s wallpaper. “Any wall you would prefer then, monsieur, something close by, if you don’t mind.”

And Sherlock really lifts his head to look around, the git. “The bedroom door.” He calls out triumphantly a moment later, and John stumbles towards it. The thumb is louder, this time, as back meets wood.

“Better?”

“Yes?”

“Can we get to fucking, then?”

“Yes, please.”

John shifts their weight so he can reach a hand between them, grabbing his cock and finally, gloriously sliding home. Gravity doesn’t allow for a slow descent but pulls Sherlock onto him quickly, stealing the doctor’s breath and making Sherlock’s face contort with the burn of the stretch. Fingers are never quite enough, and John had to learn in the beginning of their sexual relationship that for Sherlock, it is part of the pleasure to be fully opened up by his cock. 

And seeing that lovely face bleeding from pained to aroused as they hold still for a few moments, fills John with so much love for this man, who gives himself over fully, not afraid to lay his emotions bare and express what he wants. John turns his head to nuzzle at Sherlock’s shoulder, wanting to distract from the pain, to comfort. His own arousal his heightened by the way his husband is squeezed tight around him but having to hold them both upright takes just enough of his concentration take him right off the edge. 

“Okay?” He presses out between clenched teeth, getting a nod and a kiss in response. Sherlock’s fingers are in his hair, having to lean down quite a bit and John, not for the first time, wishes they were closer in height.

“John?”

“Hmm?”

“Fuck me hard and fast, will you?”

And who is John not to obey when his husband asks so nicely?

There is not much room for him to move in this position, and the first time he pulls back it is only a few inches, before he slams back in, seeking the heat and tightness. They are both quick learners in this, their bodies finding a way to make this most pleasurable for both. And maybe the position isn’t quite worth the effort, but it is new and exciting, and John loves the way the door vibrates with every thrust.

He fucks up into Sherlock, thighs quivering with the effort of holding the detective up and hitting that spot within him that makes Sherlock squirm. The fingers in his hair tighten almost painfully, pulling him up for a kiss that is more teeth than lips.

“John, that is… oh.” Sherlock attempts to speak, and John finds the spot between his shoulder and chin to rest his face against, taking in the intensity of Sherlock’s smell, heightened by the sweat collecting at his collar bone. He sucks at the skin, wanting to taste it, nips at it to pull blood to the surface, wanting Sherlock to bare his mark as well as his ring. He is possessive, and glad to have found a man who doesn’t mind.

“Faster, please. I need you; John.”

Begging. John loves it when he begs, and there is no way in hell he is going to disappoint him now. Adjusting his stance and grip at Sherlock’s thighs, John quickens the pump of his hips, his cock held in a tight grip by Sherlock’s body that he misses as soon as he pulls back the slightest bit.

He wonders, if this would be possible in the heat of the moment, returning after a case and not having the patience to make it to the bedroom, or if that is just for the movies, or porn but doesn’t have the brain capacity left to deepen the thought.

His body is aching, back and thighs still not quite recovered from when he held Sherlock up yesterday, but he works against it, moving regardless, up and in.

“Fuck, Sher, tell me you’re close.” He moans against his neck, feeling his belly tighten with arousal, the thrill of the position getting to him.

The detective drops a hand from John’s nape to wrap around his cock, which had been bouncing between them with every movement, and John can feel the knuckles of his fingers brush over his belly as Sherlock grasps at his own base and testicles to squeeze and pull.

“Yes, John. Please….”

And John let’s his hands wander up to hold Sherlock at his arse instead of his upper thighs, which tilts Sherlock’s hips up and judging by the way Sherlock shouts his name at the next thrust, the angle must have done wonders when it comes to hitting that sweet spot within him.

It takes a few more slams of Sherlock’s back against the wall, kisses to his shoulder, drags of his cockhead against his prostate and pulls on his dick, before Sherlock tightens and comes, hips tilting up into the grip of his own hand.

He’s beautiful, when he let’s go, mouth hanging open and eyes squeezed shut, and John forgets his own orgasm for a moment, as he lifts his head to watch that gorgeous face contort as he spurts hot cum onto both their belly’s.

He’s tight, twitching around him, and the doctor let’s go of one leg so Sherlock carries some of the weight, as John holds the other and pumps his hips six more times,quick and brutal, his husband’s lips on his the entire time.

Orgasm steals his breath, and it feels a bit like hitting a wall himself, three spurts of cum filling Sherlock’s insides and he moves into him a few more times after they have subsided, oversensitive but seeking more contact.

There is not much time for an afterglow, not here, as John has to pull out and release his grip on Sherlock. but they kiss softly as they go through the motions.

“John, this was… my legs are like jelly. What did you do to me?” Sherlock looks dazed, but very happy and John pulls him against his chest.

“Let me get you into a bath, so we can relax those muscles.” John brushes wet curls from his husband’s forehead.

“Only if you get in there with me.”

“That’s the plan, darling.” John pulls him off the door and into the room opposite.

Ten minutes later, they are submerged in warm water, Sherlock’s head resting on his chest, and John is half asleep, lulled by the sound of Sherlock’s breathing and the exhaustion of their encounter. That is when the detective speaks, voice tired but teasing.

“So, technically, this wasn’t really you fucking me against a wall, you know.”

“Not my fault.” John retorts with a smile.

“Debatable. I’m just saying, you might have to try again.”

“Oh, I will.” John smiles, lifting Sherlock’s hand to his mouth to kiss it. Oh how he loves lazy days at home.

  
  



End file.
